Dear Santa:
Since I've managed this far without the winning lottery ticket I've asked for every year:
Please send me two adult specimens of the opposite sex, fluent in substantially rich conversations in body language while wearing a goat mask, riding a white Cadillac loaded with cigarillos, booze, snacks, outrageous entertainment and - because of being a considerate gentleman / a lovely bastard - a huge pack of condoms to write poetry in. Just not the really small ones this time, please, because I used them all to decorate the neighbors Xmass tree. And the joke was turned on me.
I'm still in shape and wear black in size S and weight 60kg/130 lbs, on my 172cm my hat size is 57, I don't eat meat, and I still have three kids around and they love making crazy noise impros with me. Also the turtle called Killer, she still doesn't hate me, though living in captivity, making our relationship the longest lasting I've ever got, even though she too had her opportunity to leave me. And unlike the long johns I still have that slipover You kindly gave me twenty years ago in the original, unopened wrap. The funny tie, too. Thanks for that, too.